One Spark
by White Aster
Summary: Red Alert meets a charismatic revolutionary, and the entire course of history changes. (AU)
1. Taking the Bullet

For the Livejournal tf_rare_pairing community's Trick or Treat challenge. :)

The discussion started innocently enough. They were both holding up the wall of the club, the high grade was tolerable, and somehow critiquing the dancers out on the dancefloor turned to philosophy.

Red Alert was not sure how that happened, but given that he had nothing better to do, he didn't question it.

"Ah, so you are a self-determinist, then?"

His conversation partner looked down at him, amused. "You sound so disappointed."

Red Alert shrugged slightly. "Not to be rude, but I always found it a rather self-centered philosophy."

The mech shifted, turning toward him slightly. The sound of his frame's movement was drowned in the clash of music from the dancefloor. "How so?"

"It upsets the natural order. We are built for a purpose, to fulfill a function. For any one mech to decide that they will ignore that function and perform another instead assumes that they know better than Vector Sigma what society needs."

"Vector Sigma? Surely you don't believe that Vector Sigma determines a mech's function."

Red Alert waved a hand. "Of course not. There is an algorithm, I am sure, tended to by...someone with more information than I, that's for sure. Someone must make these decisions, though. Otherwise, how would we fill all the functions needed by society? To make generic frames and wait until everyone CHOSE a function would be ...impractical. Inefficient. It makes sense for those who would best fulfill a function to fill the role. I would make a poor frontliner, and you would make a poor...uh..."

One optical ridge raised at him in arch query, and Red Alert found himself momentarily at a loss. His first instinct, given the mech's frame, was to suggest something intellectual, but then they were having this discussion, were they not? Perhaps the mech was a self-determinist simply because he was more intelligent than his peers and was capable of more than...whatever it was he'd been cast to do. "...streetcleaner."

"Perhaps," the mech said, sipping from his cube. His red optics were fastened to Red Alert's, and Red Alert found himself uncertain and slightly uncomfortable under that scrutiny. "But let me ask you this, then. You are security, an analyst, an administrator, yes? Your job is to be behind the scenes, not on the front line. You said yourself that you would make a poor frontliner. You are more valuable building and executing plans, observing and analyzing, than you are with a gun in your hands, correct?"

Red Alert frowned, not seeing where this line of thought was leading. "Correct."

"Would you, then, protect another, say, a superior you did not know, with your life?" The mech reached out to tap a claw against Red's chestplate. "Would you take a bullet for them?"

Red Alert stepped back, a bit flustered. "Of course I would," he said, optics darting around. Honestly, he'd let Lifeline drag him out here, and what happened? He ended up getting into a ridiculous discussion about functionalism with a...well, Red Alert wasn't sure WHAT this mech was, other than big and opinionated. He was built large-framed and powerful like an industrial or war model, yet he argued like a politician.

"Well, then, security mech: why, then, if you are to be your function, would you not hesitate to put yourself into the line of fire for your superiors? You admit that it is not your function, that it is not where you can do the most good. So why is that instinct there? Was it something you developed yourself? A decision you thought out and deliberately made, to value the lives of your superiors over your own?"

"I...I never thought of it that way. Why would I?"

"Indeed, why would you? When it is something you have always felt and known. Code-deep." The mech's helm lowered, his voice a rumble barely audible under the bass of the music. "They MADE you to be their living shield, as sure as if they asked you to walk out of your office and stand between them and harm."

"There's...there's nothing wrong with choosing to fulfill one's function," Red Alert said, though his voice was not as sure as he'd have liked it to be. There was something wrong with the mech's logic, something that made him uneasy.

"No," the mech said. "Not if it is truly a CHOICE. I wonder, though...do you see the choice now only because I framed it as such?"

Red Alert opened his mouth, an automatic denial queued in his vocal processor before stalling. He had not thought to question his attitudes before. They were, simply put, a part of him. This mech, though, was attempting to cast them in a disturbing light that Red Alert was not entirely certain was justified. "What are you trying to say?" he asked.

The mech, perhaps sensing Red Alert's shift in mood, straightened. "Only that to give up such choices to others, of our own free will, is one thing. To have those choices taken from us...is quite another. Merely...fuel for thought."

"I..." Red Alert stared into his cube, then drained it decisively. "I'm sorry. I...should go. I have early shift tomorrow. I should go."

The large gray mech merely tilted his cube in Red Alert's direction in farewell, the red accents of his frame glowing in the sweep of ultraviolet lights from the dance floor. "It was nice to speak with you, Red Alert."

"You as well, Mega-"

[[timejump +24 vorn]]

"-tron, Autobot, armed."

"If you can call it that. Give me a moment, Soundwave."

Red Alert came back online to a slew of errors, the sound of battle not far away, and a vaguely familiar voice.

"Well. We meet again."

Megatron squatted down, picking up Red Alert's gun and turning it over in his hands thoughtfully. "Do you remember our conversation..." He appeared to think for a moment. "...Red Alert? Red Alert. It seems it's not so philosophical a discussion anymore."

He looked at Red Alert expectantly, and Red Alert could do nothing but sit there, his systems still fighting errors and feedback from whatever weapon had thrown him into the building at his back. Where was his team? They had been sent to scout the perimeter and...had they left him?

He was going to die. He was no match for the warbuild Megatron had made of himself, let alone the warbuilds and the seeker that hovered just behind.

"I went back the next night, you know," Megatron said, casually, as if they were still chatting in that club. "I went back on the off chance that you would return. I thought that, perhaps, something I'd said to you had struck a sensor, had made you THINK. Recruitment is more an art than a science, after all. Sometimes all it takes is persistence."

Red Alert's HUD was clogged with errors he could do nothing about. His code screamed at him that he should fight, that he should defend, that he should throw himself at the leader of this uprising and...and what? Tap his plating?

_Would you take a bullet for them?_

Because there was nothing else he could do. He had no weapons. No manner of hurting this mech. And yet he was assailed by rapid-fire guilt, by a feeling of wrongness, by the certainty that he should-

_take a bullet_

-give his life to protect (_who? protect who? there was no one here, his death would mean nothing..._) the public (_what public? the public was uprising, the public was rioting, he had spent the better half of a vorn fighting part of the public, part of the public was right here in front of him and would murder him for defying it_) from...from what? Harm? Itself?

Red Alert felt a new set of errors start to cascade through his queue. Code-deep. Logical fallacies inserted themselves into his decision-making trees. Or had they always been there? He...he wasn't sure...

"I had some inkling that perhaps you might understand and appreciate what I am trying to do here, Red Alert." Megatron looked down at him. "Was I wrong?"

The question was cruel. Red Alert was distracted as never before, his logic circuits nearly fritzing as it found conflicts (_protect the public-fight the public-follow your function-but why why why_). It tried to follow the internal arguments back to their roots and came up against nothing but hard-coded function-standards. Cold commands. His entire being was, of course (_of COURSE_) based on his programming (_follow authority_), on what he had been designed to do (_protect the established order_), on what he'd been TOLD TO BE (_security analyst second class_).

Red Alert struggled with those commands, trying to make sense of them. To reconcile the directives. To understand rather than to simply FOLLOW.

"His processor's glitching," the seeker sniffed from above. "Leave him. He's as good as dead."

"Are you?" Megatron asked Red Alert, those keen optics never straying. "Or are you thinking, still?"

Red Alert's vocalizer spat feedback before clearing. "I...I can't...fulfill my function. It...my directives...conflict."

Megatron smiled, grimly. "Yes. They do."

"How...I can't..." Red Alert slumped. "Kill me."

Megatron spread his hands, Red Alert's gun in one of them. "That is one possibility. But not the only one. Let me ask you, Red Alert...if mecha were to capture you-a law-abiding mech who had done no wrong-and recode you to serve them, to protect them up to and including the loss of your own life...would that be legal?"

Red Alert's processor seized on the distraction of the variables given. "...no."

"No. And yet, someone has done this to you. The system you serve has done this to you. They took your newly-cast frame, innocent of any wrongdoing, and they did. Just. That. Is that just? Is that right?"

Red Alert keened softly. He knew that answer, and it was, suddenly, not the answer that he'd always thought it was.

"How would you label mechs that did that, Red Alert?"

Red Alert's helm ached. His processors were dancing desperately, searching for a way out of a code conflict so deep it could only end in corruption and lock-up. "They...they would be...criminals."

"Yes, they would. And if it was a government that did this, an organization of mechs that agreed that this should be done to you, to every member of your batch, to billions of other mecha, solely to protect their own interests...is this a legal system?"

"It..."

"Is the government itself above the law?"

"No..."

"Then tell me, Red Alert, is this system which has stripped you of your choices to protect its own a lawful system, worthy of your protection?"

Red Alert's spinal struts locked, his entire frame locking up as his processors struggled, his code a mass of errors cascading into chaos.

A crucial categorization-so deep in his code that it HURT-trembled, indecisive...and then changed. The decision trees that categorization governed struggled to recompile, to account for the altered data, and slowly, slowly, painfully, errors cleared, threads resolved and terminated.

Inside Red Alert's helm, the world transformed.

Slowly, his frame unlocked. His optics came back online. Megatron was still there, watching him, Red Alert's gun in his hands.

"No," Red Alert said, tiredly. "It is not."

"Well, then. Let me offer you more than your masters ever did: let me give you a choice."

Red Alert frowned at him. "You're going to let me choose whether or not you kill me? That seems inefficient."

Megatron threw back his helm and barked a laugh. "No, I'm afraid you've already lost that choice. No, I'm offering you a different one."

He looked back at Red Alert, his red optics sharp, triumphant. "Am I your enemy, Red Alert?" Megatron asked.

He extended his hand. "Or are we allies?"

Red Alert looked at that hand skeptically. "How do I know that your cause is any more just than theirs? Perhaps BOTH sides are wrong."

Megatron smiled. "Perhaps. But we must always strive for the greater good, Red Alert. And right now...who is the greater good? The system which seeks to enslave us all, or the rebellion which seeks to free us?"

Red Alert narrowed his optics at the false dichotomy. "I know what you are trying to do." And yet, his life was still on the line here. These mecha could still kill him.

_I will do what I have always done. Watch. And plan._

"I am not your enemy." Red Alert took Megatron's hand. The Decepticon leader's claws closed over his forearm and lifted him to his feet effortlessly. "But I will be watching you."

"I would be disappointed if you did not," Megatron said, his optics satisfied before turning to the battle at hand. "Come. We have much to do, while you decide."


	2. Ray of LIght

For the Livejournal tf_rare_pairing community's Trick or Treat challenge. :)

This is set oh, maybe a year or ten after Taking the Bullet. This also pulls heavily from IDW canon and attempts to be consistent with that. However, I've tried to make it clear what's being discussed for those who haven't read the comics and...hopefully I've succeeded? ^_^;; Many thanks to Darthneko, Dragovian Knight, and Toggs for the betas!

"-decryption of Autobot level alpha-9 security codes, proceeding. Estimated time to complete decryption, one decacycle."

Megatron looked impressed. "Good work, Soundwave. That is ahead of schedule."

Soundwave gestured to the mech to his right. "Credit, partially belongs to Red Alert. His knowledge of Autobot security encryption algorithms, invaluable."

"Indeed." Megatron looked at the branded Autobot in their midst and nodded with approval and no little smugness. "I am glad that you two have found each other useful. I have great hopes that better intelligence on the military's movements will prevent incidents like last week's."

Red Alert tried to hide his wince. The crackdown on Kaon's Sector 92 had been something he'd gotten hints of through the security 'net, but he'd not been able to determine the exact plan until much too late. Red Alert knew exactly how many mecha had been brought in, how many had been charged, how many were still held without charges, and how many had been executed either trying to escape or after being convicted. He held those numbers close to his spark, where they served as a reminder of his failure to protect the innocent from the Senate's tyranny.

He looked up as a heavy hand dropped on his shoulder plating. Megatron's optics were steady. "We will prevail."

Red Alert nodded. He believed it because he had to. Otherwise, he was living a lie for nothing.

He would just have to try harder.

-Run  
running...

-... completed. Deceive the deceivers.  
::DATANET CONNECT.::  
::ACCESS CODE?::  
-id_908763555483775644009873  
::ACCESS GRANTED. HAVE A NICE DAY.::  
::CHANNEL?::  
-87645377444409874635337859  
::CHANNEL CONNECTED. SET SECURITY PARAMETERS, Y/N?::  
-y  
-Param key 5493876  
-Param key 8576395  
-Param key unify_76  
-Param key scrident0989  
-Param key sw11123927  
-Param key loc_unlock end  
::PARAMETERS SET::

CHANNEL USERS: systemwarden, crimson  
-crimson - I need a second opinion.  
-systemwarden - ?  
-crimson - I've found something. Something important.  
-crimson - Packet incoming, check your drop.  
-systemwarden - acknowledged.  
-systemwarden - ...information, verified?  
-crimson - Yes. Several conversations at different times, different mecha, all referencing the same event. The location IDs of the mecha involved match as well.  
-systemwarden - switch channels. epsilon parameters. check your drop for channel ID.  
-crimson - acknowledged.

Red Alert was surprised at the channel ident that Soundwave left for him. It was for an audible comm line caged with security parameters that meant that Soundwave was coding the channel's encryption on the fly. The only time that Red Alert had known him to do that was when fielding a live connection with Megatron himself.

::Red Alert,:: the Decepticon leader said, once Red Alert had connected. ::Good work. This makes sense.::

::Thank you, sir.::

::Information, confirms suspicions regarding Nominus Prime's death,:: Soundwave agreed.

::Indeed,:: Megatron's glyphs were thoughtful. ::However, it does reveal one piece out of place. A very important one that apparently has the Senate out of sorts. Have you found any indication that they know where the Matrix is?::

::There still appears to be some confusion on the matter, sir, at least in the channels I am monitoring. Most of the speculation is on whether Nova Prime took the Matrix with him when he disappeared. Some, though, seem to think that it is still on Cybertron.::

::Why would a Prime leave the Matrix behind?::

Red Alert sent a glyphed shrug of uncertainty, which was, thankfully, followed by Soundwave's more useful response. ::Possibility: because it was involved in a more important endeavor.::

::Hmm? Go on.::

There was a pause in the link, and Red Alert realized that he'd been temporarily dropped into an alternate security channel as something confidential was discussed. He waited patiently and was brought back into the main channel almost immediately. Evidently there hadn't been much debate.

Soundwave continued. ::Background: previous research project involved investigating the differences between cold-constructed vs. forged mecha. Difference, obviously of great importance to caste system. Soundwave, also interested in details of spark-splitting procedure.::

Forging vs. cold construction was not supposed to be an issue any more, but it reared its head in many a dismissive condemnation about the lower castes. The very roots of the distinction, though, were largely unknown. Everyone knew that forged mechas' sparks came from the energy waves of Vector Sigma and that cold-constructed mechas' sparks came from the mysterious "spark-splitting" process that forged sparks could undergo. However, the details of this process were not public knowledge. Red Alert had never known or heard of anyone who had actually seen or participated in the process, but then, he was cold-constructed himself.

A carrier, Red Alert realized, especially a carrier who had been denied repeatedly for a sparking license, might well be interested in the process...for multiple reasons.

::Soundwave's discovery: spark-splitting procedure is a hoax. Sparks for cold-constructed frames, come from a warehouse on the outskirts of Iacon. Sparks, transported to construction facilities when needed for cold-constructed frames.::

Red Alert for a nanoklik thought that he'd heard wrong. ::That...that's outrageous! But...why?::

::Unknown. Source of sparks, also unknown. However...per your report: "We must find it. the life-giving powers of the Matrix are too important." Other quotes, also suggest connection between Matrix, sparks, and population maintenance.::

Red Alert found himself very aware of the cycling of his own spark. ::You think the Matrix was involved in producing those sparks? But how?::

::Unknown.::

::I find myself suddenly very interested in the whereabouts of our most cherished religious relic,:: Megatron said, wryly. ::The future of our race should clearly not be in the hands of the Senate.::

::Symbolism of the Matrix and divine right to rule, of unparallelled importance in the minds of significant portion of Cybertronian population,:: Soundwave pointed out...a vast understatement, in Red Alert's opinion.

::That as well. The re-emergence of the Matrix could be the sign that so many are waiting for. This warrants further investigation.::

Red Alert thought back to the databases he had access to. ::There are certainly many research project archives under heavy encryption. Perhaps there is some trace of this spark-generation project left.::

::That is what I like about you, Red Alert: you never shirk from what needs doing. What are your chances of accessing and decrypting these archives without being detected?::

Red Alert considered. ::On my own, reasonable. With Soundwave's help...::

::Excellent,:: Soundwave pronounced, his glyphs modified with markers for staunch certainty.

Megatron sounded pleased. ::I leave it in your hands, then.::

Time blurred for Red Alert. He carefully kept up his official work, of course. A change in behavior or efficiency would invite scrutiny, and that was the absolute last thing he needed. However, he lost track of the cycles, once even coming in to work on his day off. Concentration enhancements and long joors of searching, copying, and analyzing replaced his already sparse recharge schedule.

His spark nearly stopped, one shift, when he was called into his superior's office. However, ironically, Triplecheck only congratulated him on his excellent work on the new security rotation schedule and SOP updates and gave him a promotion.

Red Alert hadn't had to fake his gratitude at all. The upgraded security clearance made his work afterhours that much easier.

Not that said work was pleasant. Far from it. He learned more about the twisted ambitions of Nova Prime than he had ever wanted to know. A few times the locked files that bloomed under his and Soundwave's decryption algorithms made his tank churn and his servos shake.

Such MONSTERS with such POWER over the people they were sworn to protect! Such abuses of that power! It was heinous. Incomprehensible. Unconscionable.

His outrage drove him through his own recharge cycles, covering their unauthorized access to the security databases, crafting dummy accounts with privileges far above his own, uploading and integrating decryption protocols notated in Soundwave's meticulous, gratifyingly thorough script. Soundwave himself worked just as hard. The only time that Red Alert could not reach him or did not recognize his touch upon the hidden backdoors into the security 'net was when Soundwave himself was scheduled to fight in the arena.

And even then he caught Soundwave multitasking, if it was a particularly mismatched fight.

::I know too much,:: Red Alert said, one late night as he methodically crawled through an jumbled archive of unlabeled project reports. ::You are much too important to have frequent contact with someone as potentially dangerous as me. I'm the first person they'll come looking for if we are discovered.::

::Our combined knowledge, required for such endeavors,:: Soundwave pointed out. ::Contingency plans, prepared and in place.::

::I find that reassuring. Honestly, I d-:: Red Alert stopped cold, rereading the report synopsis in front of him.

::...?::

::I found it.:: Red Alert didn't even finish reading the report, simply hashed it and sent it winging to Soundwave's secure dropbox. He didn't even bother to notify Soundwave that it was there. He received the answering ping that the communications mech had opened it nanoseconds after it was finished uploading. ::Primus. Cross-referencing project number...report author's name is Stormsight...::

Red Alert's security monitors noted Soundwave's access to the security 'net, Soundwave's search spiders unfurling over the personnel databases so that Red Alert could focus on what he was doing. ::Stormsight, medic, spark technician, graduated Iacon Medical Academy with honors.::

::Makes sense. This project is coming up with hundreds of reports, spanning exactly the timeframe we'd expect. It WAS done after Nova left the planet...::

::Security sweep, incoming.::

::Frag. Frag, frag, frag...got it all.:: Red Alert downloaded everything he'd found and closed his connection. ::Clear.::

The silence of his quarters was disconcerting after the background hum of frantically running processes and data searches. Red Alert onlined his optics, the room oddly empty without Soundwave's virtual presence beside him.

::Clear. Security sweep, routine. No anomalous activity.::

::Wonderful.:: Red Alert finished uploading what he'd found and eagerly downloaded the hashed archives that Soundwave had placed in his own dropbox. The thrill of discovery made the long, meticulous work worth it. They were finally going to KNOW. ::Where should we start?::

::Soundwave, will read through technical reports. Red Alert, should concentrate on whereabouts and activities of Stormsight, timeframe of interest and afterwards.::

::Got it.::

::Red Alert?::

::Yes?::

::Excellent work.::

Red Alert smiled at his bare wall. ::Thank you. I could not have done it without you.::

::Likewise.::

Red Alert stared at the grainy security footage flowing over his screen.

Stormsight, looking over his shoulder constantly. Stormsight, entering the Undergrid through an old access tunnel once, then twice.

Stormsight, going to work the next day and the day after and the day after, looking inexplicably relieved.

As if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Red Alert closed his connection and shut off his console. His quarters plunged into darkness, lit only by his optics. Then he offlined those, slumping back in his chair. He was so tired. But knowledge burned in his processor.

There were no security cameras in the Undergrid. The place was no doubt immense. But surely not too immense? Stormsight left and came out again within two joors. That was surely a workable search radius.

::Soundwave.::

::?::

::I know where he put it.::

Red Alert onlined his optics again, his smile small but triumphant. ::I know where the Matrix is.::


End file.
